


The Starter Wife

by lesbianophelia



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Slow Burn, politician!Peeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianophelia/pseuds/lesbianophelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's either a good piece of luck or a bad piece of luck, Katniss Everdeen ending up in Peeta Mellark's bed and being given an offer that's hard to refuse. It really just depends on who you ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was one of my very first fic ideas. But I am so, so grateful to C_R_Roberts and Gentlemama for help with this fic. It's not half the fic it would have been without their help

**PROLOGUE:**    
  
She’s brushing her teeth with her finger and some toothpaste out of a little travel sized thing she found on the counter when she hears the alarm go off. It’s the most annoying preset iphone alarm possible. The one that makes the same sound that a sinking ship would while it shuffled people onto lifeboats. But even that sound, as much as she hates it, is better than the sound that comes once it’s off. The man she woke up beside is awake. She hears his feet --  _foot_ , if she remembers correctly. Though all of this seems like a weird fever dream because she has never  _ever_ woken up beside someone she didn’t immediately recognize before -- hit the ground and even though she knows it’s ridiculous, she finds herself looking for an escape plan.   
  
There are no hopes of sneaking out undetected, and she sighs, combing through her hair with her fingers. There’s a green handled brush beside the sink, not far from the toothpaste she swiped, but that would be easier to be caught. She doesn’t want to risk leaving black hair in his comb when he’s so uncompromisingly  _blond_. That would kind of suck.   
  
Also, okay. Yeah, maybe she wants to look decent for the awkward morning after conversation that’s sure to come. Not that it matters, really -- she intends to never see the man again -- but he had seemed pretty attractive when she snuck out of bed. Even with the ridiculously clingy way he blindly reached for her as she scooted away and took the bedsheet with her. And the way his eyes squinted even more closed against the morning sunlight, leaving wrinkles on his face that she remembers, now that she’s more awake, certainly weren’t there last night.   
  
She remembers the easy smile he flashed her as he sat down beside her and wants desperately to crawl into a hole. Not that he was unattractive when she was searching for her clothes, exactly. Just that she was a  _mess_ and if that was the worst he got, she had no excuse whatsoever.   
  
  
When she bites the bullet and creeps out of the bathroom, he’s hunched over a suitcase he’s hefted onto the bed. The shirt in his hands is forgotten when he sees her, though. “Oh. Hello there,” he says, dragging a hand through his bedhead in a weak attempt to smooth it down. If anything, it makes it worse.  _Ugh_. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t adorable. And fit. Not in a ridiculous magazine cover sort of way. Like, there’s no six pack or anything. But his arms look strong.   
  
They  _are_ strong, if she remembers correctly. Strong and gentle all at once.   
  
He clears his throat, eyes dropping to the shirt in his hands. She looks away while he puts it on. As if the damage isn’t already done. As if the damage wasn’t done last night. “Did you sleep well?” he asks.   
  
She shrugs. Her phone had been going off all night long. She should have answered it, but she wasn’t exactly in her right mind. As evidenced by the blond standing in front of her, looking at her like she might be crazy. But when she woke up and realized that she wasn’t in the room she and Prim are sharing with the rest of the bridal party, she read over the litany of the texts on her way-too-bright phone and decided her apology may seem more sincere if she didn’t look like a mess from the night before. “Look, ah, I should go,” she says. “This was . . .” she’s not sure how to finish that sentence. “I should go,” she says again.   
  
“Hey,” he says, voice low and gentle and -- if she remembers correctly, the same as it was last night when he asked to buy her a drink. “No need to rush out.”   
  
“There is,” she insists. “I have to find my sister. So, um, I’ll need to be getting out of here.”   
  
“Do you -- What do you remember about last night, Catherine?”   
  
“Katniss,” she corrects with a scowl, brushing her hair out of her eyes with her hand. The smile drops from his face.   
  
“ _Katniss_ ,” he repeats. “What are you doing with my ring?”   
  
“Your ring?” she looks down at her hand, scowling at the loose ring that’s threatening to fall off of her finger.   
  
“That’s my ring,” he says. “The Mellark family crest.”   
  
Mellark. Shit. “Oh. Sorry. Here, take it back.”   
  
He doesn’t move to take the ring when she holds it out. Just shakes his head at her.   
  
“Katniss Everdeen.”   
  
She gave him her last name?   
  
“Oh fuck,” he says, and his voice isn’t low and careful and practiced anymore.   
  
“What?” she asks.   
  
“Katniss Everdeen,” he says again, grabbing the suit jacket she recognizes from the night before off of the back of the chair and digging into the pocket. “As in -- _fuck_.”   
  
“What?” she asks again. And when he doesn’t respond, she takes the paper from his hands.   
  
“Fuck,” she echoes weakly.   
  
  
While she stares at the marriage license -- at  _her name_ on the marriage license, signed shakily but certainly in her handwriting -- he swears a few more times.  _Peeta Mellark._ That’s his name. When she tears her eyes away from the document, he’s on his phone.   
  
“Now isn’t the time for you to be playing --”   
  
She meant to make an Angry Birds joke, or something. But then he holds his phone out towards her, showing her a grainy picture of them. It must be from last night. She recognizes his outfit. And hers, with a little pang. She’s in a clearly rented dress – and  _veil!_ – and him in a suit jacket that looks much better on him than the dress looks on her. She thinks that it’s the one he dug the document out of.  
  
“Can’t be real,” he says. “No way. No way. It’s not real. No one would let us get married. Not with how drunk you were.”   
  
“How drunk  _I_ was?” she protests. “I don’t think you were sober, either.”   
  
“How did you talk me into this? No. Forget that. It’s probably not legal, anyway. But I’ll get it taken care of.”

 

“Talk you into this?” she asks, irate. She remembers bits and pieces, suddenly. Remembers him –  _Peeta_ , if memory serves, and the name on the marriage license is to be believed – approaching her while she wallowed and moped about her sister and the rest of the bridal party not thinking she was cool, but he  _certainly_ was the one to talk to her first. “I didn’t!”

 

“That’s not your signature, then?” he asks.

 

She shoves the paper back towards him. “I can’t. I can’t deal with this right. Now I have to find my sister. For all she knows -- shit. For all  _I_ know, you’re some kind of psycho.”

 

“I’m a  _politician_ ,” he says, voice close to a growl. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

 

“You want to talk about bad?” she asks. “I’m here for my sister’s bachelorette party. I can’t -- I can’t get  _married_ at her bachelorette party!”

 

“I’ll get it annulled -- quietly. I don’t want this getting out any more than you do. But you have to stay here. With me. Until we can. I’m just going to call my PR rep. Maybe you can take a shower? See what you can remember?”

 

“Excuse me?” she asks. “No. I have to . . . I  _have_ to talk to my sister.”

 

He calls after her, but she’s faster, and though her high heels are still in her hands, she manages to start to run down the stairs while he’s still calling for her.

  
This isn’t happening. Can’t be.

 


	2. Chapter One

Flowers show up at her work on Monday, with a little note scrawled onto the card. Dinner this weekend? -- Peeta 

Her nostrils flare. Couldn’t he have gotten this annulled by now? He told her he would. And she’s been so busy with the plans for Prim’s wedding that she hasn’t gone down to the courthouse herself. Because, maybe she doesn’t know how to go about this. And it’s not like she has money for a lawyer just lying around like Mr. Fancyass Politician clearly does. 

She’s been busy with bridesmaid stuff. (And also groveling for her sister to forgive her while still somehow keeping the details of what happened that night a secret because she is the worst, but also because lying is a better option than coming clean, in this case.)

 

“Katniss? You have messages, dear,” Fulvia Cardew informs her, dropping a little stack of index cards on her desk. She wonders when her job is going to get with the times and go digital. Of course, then Plutarch would have to fire the receptionist and that’s clearly not going to happen.

Katniss grits her teeth at the term of endearment and shuffles through the notes. They’re all from Peeta. And they’re innocent enough. One of them is his phone number, and the rest of them are -- more or less -- him pleading for her to call him one way or another. 

Can we talk? 

I need to see you. 

I miss you. 

He misses her? What the fuck does that even mean? She punches the number in and tells him in no uncertain terms that it probably counts as stalking, tracking down her place of work. Then she very studiously ignores her phone. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: text message (5)  
UNKNOWN NUMBER: missed call (3)

11:23 AM: Desperate times. I wasn’t entirely sure where you went. We have to talk.  
11:25 AM: You can’t just run away from this.  
11:30 AM: [MISSED CALL]  
11:34 AM: [MISSED CALL]  
11:36 AM: My PR rep did some googling. This is gonna be public record.  
11:38 AM: Just so you know, you are making this incredibly difficult.  
11:40 AM: [MISSED CALL]  
11:42 AM: How about I take you out to dinner and we talk about this. You know. Like civilized adults.

 

She rolls her eyes. Purses her lips. 

11:45 AM: Who is this?

She knows who it is, of course. But she wants to piss him off. Because she’s mature. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: 11:47 AM: You are the most frustrating individual I have ever met.

11:47 AM: ditto.

 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: 11:55 AM: Oh for shit’s sake. Dinner? 

11:59 AM: You’re buying.

 

UKNOWN NUMBER: 11:59 AM: Yeah. Cause I’m gonna ask you to dinner and make you pay.

 

She almost wishes that she and Prim were on better terms. Prim would help her out of this. Of course, if her sister is this mad at her for disappearing and taking the focus in the Capitol the other night . . . well, adding a whole marriage to the deal probably wouldn’t help.

It has to be fake. Maybe he found out it wasn’t legit and wants to deliver the news in person. Either way, she knows that the place he's bringing her to is fancy, because, hello. He’s obviously loaded. And she googled the place he said he was taking her to beforehand and – well, any place that charges fifty bucks for a steak isn’t going to take kindly, probably, to her wearing ripped jeans and a ripped band shirt. So she wears a little black dress she hasn’t taken down in years – since that guy Darius convinced her to let him take her out. And curls her hair carefully.

Prim would help. They’ve never fought before. Not until Katniss made her disappointment in being a lowly bridesmaid too obvious and Prim got defensive. The rational part of her knew that it wasn’t a big deal, but the irrational part . . . well. It’s just not desperate enough to beg her soon to be ex-roommate to loan her a dress. 

Ugh. That’s another thing she’s going to have to deal with. Coming home to a very messy apartment and her roommate packing her things into boxes was pretty much the last thing she wanted to deal with. Her mother will let her move back in, if that’s what it comes down to. But Katniss really doesn’t want for it to come down to that. 

She could really use some good news. Maybe it’s a good thing that she’s getting a taxi and meeting Peeta Mellark at a hopefully well lit, very public place. It will be good news. It has to be. Her stomach hurts at the thought of anything else waiting for her. 

 

It is a blonde sitting at the Mellark table, but she isn’t Peeta. He could have at least warned her. 

“You must be Katniss!” the girl says, standing up. “I’m Delly Cartwright. Peeta is very sorry, but he’ll be late tonight. Family business.” 

“Why didn’t he just reschedule?” Katniss asks. This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that require a PR rep. Unless . . . 

“Oh. Well, you know. This is sort of time sensitive. Sit down! Sit down! He’ll be in soon.

She does. It’s quiet while Katniss looks over the menu. 

“Get whatever you want,” Delly says. “The Mellarks are paying.” 

Katniss nods, looking over at the steak section. 

“So, Katniss, what do you do?” 

“Oh. I, um, work part time at this little record label downtown,” Katniss says. “Nothing massive like Peeta. But it works while I’m in school.” 

“What are you studying?” 

“Why?” Katniss asks, lowering her menu. 

“Just making conversation!” Delly says brightly. “Tell me more about yourself.” 

“I’m here to talk about the annulment,” Katniss says. 

“Oh. Well. About that. It’s actually a matter of public record, it turns out, if Peeta were to be married and get it annulled. So . . .” 

“Yes. And?” 

“Well . . . see, that sort of thing would reflect very poorly on –” 

“You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you?” 

The blonde girl makes a disgusted face. “PR Rep. Not his girlfriend. I know him way too well for that to ever work. Anyway, annulment is possible if one or both parties weren’t in their right mind, and, of course, if you didn’t consummate the marriage.”

She flushes. Delly gives her a knowing look. 

“Peeta has assured me of the same thing,” she says. “But it’ll look essentially the same as a divorce. And that’s where it gets tricky.” 

“Katniss,” Peeta says. He’s in a suit, hair carefully styled. He looks like he did when they met, she supposes. “Have I missed anything?” 

“She was telling me where this gets tricky,” Katniss says. “And here I thought it was already tricky.” 

He actually laughs, sitting down beside Delly. “You look lovely.”   
She gives him a little nod. “Delly,” Katniss says. “Why is it trickier?” 

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Delly says. “My client is a politician.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Katniss says. 

“Look, they already think he’s too young for the job. How do you think it’s going to look for him to do exactly what they’re expecting him to do? Go out, get drunk, and get married?” she asks, her voice lowering. 

“But that really isn’t my problem,” she says.

“It could be,” Peeta says. 

Delly elbows him square in the ribs. “That sounded like a threat,” she says. “But it’s not. There are certain . . . benefits . . . to being married to someone like Peeta.” 

“Being married to someone like Peeta?” Katniss repeats. “No. No. No. You want me to . . . to stay married to him?! My sister doesn’t know about this, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Public record,” Delly says, eyebrows raising.

“I don’t think she’ll be doing a background check.”

“No, your sister might not do a background check. But you know who will? Scott Marvel. His whole team. And Peeta won’t be the only one they drag through the mud.”

“Is that a threat?” she asks.

“No, not a threat,” Delly says, and she looks surprisingly earnest. “We don’t want to threaten you into this, Katniss. But I think you deserve to be warned that your face will be on those ads, too. They’re going to go through your Facebook and Instagram. You thought it was an invasion of privacy for us to find your place of work? They’ll look up your mother and sister – anyone that has anything to do with you or has ever had anything to do with you – and they’ll find any pictures that look even vaguely incriminating. Blow them up. Use them in their ads against Peeta.” 

“Sounds like a threat,” Katniss says. 

“Consider it a warning,” Peeta says, leaning forward in his chair a bit. “They’re going to throw the two of us together. And if we decide to be a team . . . well, it’ll be a little harder for them to turn this around on us.” 

“A team,” Katniss echoes. 

“This is just really all a precursor to what I’m about to ask you,” Delly says. 

“What are you going to ask me?” She thinks that she knows where this is going and she doesn’t like it one bit.

Peeta smiles. “Katniss, we want to ask you to stay married to me. To have and to hole, to honor, cherish, blah blah blah, till the end of election season to us part.” 

“I – you – what?” she sputters. “You said I was the most frustrating person you’ve ever met!”

“Yes. And?” Delly asks. “It’s not really a matter of you two liking each other.”

She stares at the wall, absolutely seething. “No.”

“Will you hear me out?” she asks. “We’re not asking anything of you. Or, at least, nothing untoward. Just . . . just stick it out a little while. We’ll offer room and board – in his apartment. For appearances, of course. But you’ll have your own room – and bed, I swear! Just give us until after the election. If you really hate him, you can divorce him after that.” 

“And that won’t look bad?” she asks, genuinely curious and not at all considering the proposition, thank you very much. “You getting elected and divorced in the same week?” 

“Okay. Not exactly till the end of election season,” he says. “But afterwards, once the dust settles, you’ll be able to divorce me. Plain and simple.”

“But let’s focus on you, Katniss. I happen to know Peeta has great insurance. And we’ll pay you!”

“You’re going to pay me? That practically makes me a prostitute!”

“Not a prostitute!” Delly says, as if the thought is disturbing. “We really shouldn’t be discussing this in public, but we have no choice. Because, of course, Peeta found the one girl from home,” she says. “Consider it like . . . like an acting job!”

“Acting?”

“Yes. Just . . . hold onto his arm at dinners. Whisper sweet nothings. Then you go home and it’s off to separate rooms. Separate lives. It’s not the worst plan, I don’t think.”

“I do!” she says. “I think it’s a horrible plan.”

“Just . . . consider it. Please,” Peeta says, and he sounds genuine. 

It’s quiet for a long moment. Katniss genuinely considers leaving before they even get their food, but honestly, when is the next time she’s going to get a meal like this? 

“We’ll pay for your schooling!” Delly offers. Katniss can tell it’s a last ditch effort. It’s a very good one.

Peeta sputters. “What? What schooling? Oh, fuck. How young is this girl?” 

She scowls at him. “I’m not that young. Just . . . had to take a couple years off before college.” Not that she has to explain herself to these people. Peeta’s father probably had the money for his tuition before he was even born. 

“And you have to admit,” Delly adds, voice lowered conspiratorially. “He’s not the worst looking man. You could bring him to family events. He’d charm their socks off.” 

“No. He won’t. He didn’t charm me.” 

“I was having an off day,” Peeta assures her. “Give me another shot. Your sister is getting married, right?” 

“How do you know that?” she asks. 

“It’s like I was saying about the others going through Facebooks and Instagrams,” Delly says. “So, how about you take Peeta to the rehearsal dinner?” 

Katniss feels sick and takes a huge drink of her water to try to cool down. “Why?” 

“It’s the perfect chance to see me in my element,” he says. “I’ll schmooze and impress everyone. Including you.” 

“And if you still think, after seeing him on his very best behavior, that spending a few months married to him isn’t worth graduating college debt free and with some money socked away to boot, we’ll sign the paperwork and be out of your hair,” Delly promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at arollercoasterthatonlygoesup, if you wanna hang out :) Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to c-r-roberts for helping with this story!

  
She should have said no. Should have turned this idea down right away and laughed in Delly’s face. Demanded that they get the divorce papers immediately. Not let Peeta leave her sight until she could be sure he signed them. Why did she agree to this?   
  
_Because you’re weak_ , a voice in her head says, and she tries to keep her hands from trembling as she puts her mascara on. _You’d rather go with someone you hate than go alone. And you’d rather lie than let your sister know how horrible you are.  
  
_ Well. She doesn’t  _hate_ him, exactly. Maybe he  _was_ having a bad day when she met him that morning. Shecertainly was. And for another, she’s not  _that_ scared of going alone – right? That’s not even to mention the fact that Prim can find out about what’s happened someday. Long after the wedding. Or . . . something like that. Hopefully never, if they get this annulled.   
  
Which they  _will_. It’s just a matter of sooner or later. Peeta wants later, clearly, but she wants – badly – for it to be sooner.   
  
  


Either way, he’ll be at her apartment in a few minutes to pick her up. And she needs to be ready. Even though it feels strange, letting him. Letting him see where she lives. It’s a mess. Her soon-to-be- _ex_ -roommate has been trying to pack up and has practically trashed the place in her attempt.   
  
She shakes her hair out, making sure the curls rest right. It’ll be in some fancy updo tomorrow. Prim hired a  _stylist_ for the wedding. A woman named Venia with white-blue hair and eyebrows plucked thin and drawn back on, high enough to make her look perpetually surprised. But tonight, she’s on her own. And wearing the same black dress that she wore to meet Delly in, because, okay, it’s sort of the nicest thing that she owns.   
  
Save for the soft orange taffeta bridesmaids dress that she’s supposed to wear tomorrow. But she’s not looking forward to wearing that – and it’s clearly not an option for tonight anyway.   
  
  
PEETA MELLARK: 4:47 PM:I’m almost to your place.   
PEETA MELLARK: 4:47 PM: are you sure I don’t need to bring anything? _  
_  
She types and erases her message a few times before she hits send.   
  
4:49 PM: No need to bring anything. It’s a rehearsal dinner, not a potluck.   
  
PEETA MELLARK: 4:58 PM: And she’s funny, too. I’m in your driveway. Be right up.   
  
  
She hasn’t put her heels on by the time he knocks at the door – it’s exactly five. He’s prompt, at least – and he smirks at the sight of the shoes in her hands. Actually  _smirks._ Damn him.   
  
“Oh, no,” he says, looking her up and down. “You aren’t gonna run again, are you?” he asks.   
  
“Funny,” she says drily. “You want to come in? I’ll just be another minute.”   
  
He nods, thanking her and stepping inside. She feels self conscious, suddenly, with him looking around her place. If his hotel room was any indication, he’ll be used to something fancier, and her place is kind of a mess.   
  
Not that she had tried to clean for him. She’s pretty certain that would be lame. She waits for some sort of snide comment, about the size or sit being  _cozy_ or something, but nothing comes. She sits down on the edge of the couch and works to buckle her shoe. She’s not liking these heels. The fastens are too small to deal with easily. Especially when she can tell that he’s staring at her.   
  
“What’s our story, Wishbone?” he asks, and he sounds almost playful. It’s weird. She didn’t really expect for him to be the joking type.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Our story,” he says. “Unless you just don’t get the Wishbone reference. If that’s the case then,  _god,_ you had no idea what I meant when I asked if you were too young.”    
  
“I got the reference,” she says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. If he thinks she’s immature or whatever, eye rolling won’t help her case.   
  
Not that it matters what he thinks of her.   
  
“Well, personally, I think that we should tell them that we’re just dating. Maybe we can elope in a few weeks, but unless we’re  _trying_ to ruin the happiest day of your sister’s life, then we might want to –”   
  
“The rehearsal dinner isn’t the happiest day of her life,” Katniss corrects, because she  _can_ and he’s so pretentious that he just begs to be knocked down a peg.   
  
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” Peeta says. “And before I forget – thisis for you.”   
  
“What is?” she asks. He’s digging around in his pocket.   
  
“Token of our love,” he says, producing a little black jewelry box. It’s too big to be a ring. She can’t help but to be curious when she opens it.   
  
It’s a necklace. One single pearl in a setting that looks like white gold.   
  
“What?” she asks. “No. I can’t accept this.”   
  
“Good. It’s a loaner,” he says, pulling the necklace out of the crushed velvet lining of the box and motioning for her to turn around. Then it’s quiet for a long moment as they stay locked in a staring contest. “Of course, if you agree to this . . . gifts like this? Just the tip of the iceberg.”   
  
_The tip of the iceberg._ “I’m not agreeing yet,” she reminds him. “This doesn’t mean anything.”   
  
“I know, I know. Turn around.” She does, and he brushes her hair away from her neck. His fingers work quickly to secure the necklace, and she realizes that she knows what he’s doing. At least she won’t have to worry about him being unconvincing this evening. The man knows how to have girlfriend. “Delly warned me already,” he says. “Said that if I put one toe out of line, I’m going to blow the whole thing.”   
  
“There isn’t a  _whole thing_  to blow yet,” she grumbles, her hand coming up to touch the necklace out of curiosity. It doesn’t seem like it’s necessary, wearing the thing, but if he wants to dress her up, she supposes she can let him. If  _he_ has to be on his best behavior tonight, she may as well try to let him.   
  
“I know,” he says, and sounds surprisingly honest. “Look, I’m trying to fix that. I know I didn’t make the best first impression. So what’s our story, Katniss? How did we meet?”  
  
  
“I don’t know,” she says because she has no idea what he’s even trying to  _ask_.“Maybe you . . . rear ended me? And we exchanged numbers for insurance, but –”  
  
“No.”   
  
She crosses her arms and stands up, moving over to go get her bag. “Fine. What’s your idea, then?”   
  
“I was hoping you’d ask that,” he says, stretching his arm along the length of the couch. He looks so much . . .  _bigger_ than the old, hand-me-down thing that was her aunt’s before it was ever even in her  _parents’_ house. Like he’s on a different level, almost. And yet there e is, making himself comfortable.   
  
It’s strange, him reclining like he belongs there. “See, that was an admirable attempt. But I’ve been thinking about this a little longer than you have,  _clearly_  – and honestly, if we can avoid rumors about me being a bad driver, I think that’s what we ought to do – so I practically have this worked out.”   
  
“Why did you even ask, then?” she asks.   
  
He doesn’t answer. Just gives her a smile. “You know your music, right? If you work for Heavensbee?”   
  
She nods. “I guess so.”   
  
“Then we’ll say that I went in to a record store downtown to buy a birthday gift for a friend of mine, and you gave me a terrible recommendation. But I, of course, was able to overlook your horrible taste in music –”   
  
“Give me a break,” she says. “How about we say we just met there?”   
  
“If you want to take all of the drama out of it, then sure, we’ll go with that,” he says coolly. “But we’ve got to have  _details,_ Katniss. Or else they’re never going to buy it.”    
  
Details. She rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be huge thing. People meet. They date.”   
  
“But,” he stands up, crosses the room, and stands in front of her, head dipped down just slightly closer to her than is completely necessary, “do they fall so deeply in love that elope within a matter of weeks?” he asks, and his voice lowers as he reaches out to straighten her necklace. “That they’d rather  _die_ than live without each other, for even the amount of time it would take to plan a proper wedding?”   
  
A shiver runs through her, maybe not so much at the words but at the intensity of them. He believes what he’s saying. Or he’s a very good liar, and he wants  _her_ to believe what he’s saying. She’s not sure which.   
  
“Think about it, Katniss,” he says, stepping back, just a little bit, and running a hand through his hair. .   
  
She nods even though she’s not sure what she’s supposed to be thinking about.   
  
“Should we get going?” he asks, glancing over at the clock on the microwave. “I’d hate to make you late.”   
  
  
  
  
“Who is this?” her mother asks, no doubt noticing the way Peeta is glued to her arm.  
  
“My boyfriend,” Katniss says, the lie coming far too easily. “Peeta Mellark.”   
  
“The senator’s son?” her father asks.   
  
Peeta chuckles politely. “Well, if things go our way in the upcoming election, maybe I’ll be the politician of the family in my own right.”   
  
“ _Honey_ ,” Katniss says, much too sweetly. “Is now really the time to work on your campaign?”   
  
“You’re right, sweetheart. I’m sorry, Mr. Everdeen,” Peeta says with a charming smile. “They have me running lines so often now, it’s getting sort of hard to turn it off.”   
  
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Especially when her father claps Peeta on the back and says not to worry about it.   
  
“That’s a lovely necklace, Katniss,” her mother says.   
  
“Thank you,” Katniss says. “It was a gift.”   
  
Peeta smiles. “I just thought it screamed  _Katniss_. How could I pass that up?” he asks. “It’s so beautiful against her skin.”   
  
“That’s very generous of you,” Mrs. Everdeen says. “I’m impressed she’s wearing it. She never was much for jewelry.”   
  
Peeta smiles. “A girl like Katniss, well, you just have to find the right fit.”   
  
Her parents exchange a look, and she just knows that it’s because they think he’s  _romantic_. A girl like Katniss.  _A girl like Katniss_. What does that mean? Surely Peeta doesn’t know, but it still confuses her, the way her parents seem to understand it.  
  
“I’ve got to ask you, Peeta,” her mother begins good-naturedly. “What have you done with our Katniss? She’s never been the type for romance.”   
  
“It’s like I said,” Peeta says, wrapping an arm around Katniss’ shoulders. “Gotta find the right fit.”   
  
“We’ll need to have you over sometime,” her mother says.   
  
“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Peeta says. “What was that meal you were telling me you liked so much, Katniss?”   
  
“Stew,” she answers.   
  
“That’s right!” he says, snapping his fingers. “I’ve heard incredible things about your stew.”   
  
Maybe it should bother her, how easily Peeta lies. But for now, it’s just fascinating. “There’s Prim and Rory,” she says, nodding to the couple across the room. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you.”   
  
  
  
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Peeta says.  
  
“You have?” Prim asks, and then her eyes dart over to Katniss accusatorily. “I’m sorry to say it, but I haven’t heard much about you.”   
  
He takes it kindly enough, being very nice to both of them, offering congratulations and saying that they’re a beautiful couple. And then, as they walk away, he leans over towards Katniss and murmurs, “My, they are getting married young, aren’t they?”   
  
“At least they’re  _sober_ ,” she snaps back, feeling protective. Peeta wraps an arm around her shoulder, the move almost comforting.   
  
“Don’t be like that, Katniss,” he says. “I’m trying, but if we’re going to make this work, well . . . you’re going to have to give me the chance to win you over, aren’t you?”   
  
She doesn’t answer.   
  
“I  _am_  trying,” he insists. “I know I made a horrible first impression. I want to fix that. And they’re watching, so laugh, as if I’ve just said something very funny.”   
  
“What?” she asks.   
  
“They’re watching. Do you want to be asked about trouble in paradise so soon? I mean, if you want that to be part of our story, sure. But it may not work so well.”   
  
It’s sort of hard, wiping the scowl from her face long enough to throw her head back in laughter that probably looks completely fake. She even swats at his arm for emphasis. When he smiles, it looks genuine.   
  
“There you go,” he says. “We make a good team.”   
  
Is that what they are? A team?   
  
  
He keeps hold of her all night, other than when they  _can’t_ be together, like when she has to practice walking down the aisle. But even then, he’s shooting her supportive looks and even a thumbs up at one point.   
  
She doesn’t mean for it to make her smile. But the gesture is . . .  _sweet_ , and so unlike anything that she expected Peeta to be, based on that first meeting.  _Maybe he’s not so bad,_ she thinks.  _Is that why Delly thought I could do this?  
  
_ He charms everyone. Her parents, her sister and soon to be brother-in-law. All of the Hawthornes, including  _Gale_. She had thought t might be a problem, bringing a date after she broke up with Gale on the grounds of  _not liking to have a boyfriend_ , but if he cares about the mixed message all these years later, he doesn’t show it.   
  
When Madge suggests that they should double sometime. She’s surprised to hear Peeta agree enthusiastically. She’s not at all interested in a double date, especially not with Gale and Madge. But, if it’s like he said and he wants to make a good impression, maybe he thinks that this is the way to do it. She’ll have to ask him not to agree to any more dates without her approval.   
  
Of course, they won’t really be held accountable for double dates when they break up.   
  
  
Prim seems to be much more pleased with Katniss tonight. Maybe just because Katniss and Peeta are being quiet and trying to  _not_ steal her spotlight. Either way, when she comes and plops down beside Katniss, it isn’t entirely awkward.   
  
“It’s tomorrow!” Katniss says, poking her sister in the side. “Are you excited?”

 

Prim  _giggles_ , sounding much younger than she is. “Excited. I also kind of can’t believe this really happening.”   
  
“It was a long time in the making,” Katniss agrees, and Peeta’s leg nudges hers under the table. As if he’s reminding her of their conversation earlier, about them being young. But a rush of something she can’t place shoots through her, leaving her feeling strange and almost fidgety.   
  
“Your nails look great.”   
  
“Thank you,” Prim says, tapping them against the table. “Rue and I went together and – oh. Sorry.”   
  
“No, it’s fine,” Katniss says, resisting the urge to pick at the chipped polish on her fingers. She’ll have to fix that tonight in case the photographer wants some kind of close up on her hands. To, like, brag that her sister got married before she did or something. “I’m glad you had fun, Duck.”   
  
“Duck?” Peeta asks. “You guys have the weirdest nicknames.”   
  
Prim laughs, and Katniss just knows that she’s a goner. Peeta has completely and totally won her over.“It’s a long story,” her sister says. “Maybe Katniss can tell you sometime.”   
  
“I’ll look forward to it,” he says, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in close. “Maybe you can tell me about Catnip, too.”   
  
She laughs. Something about the thought of Peeta knowing about Gale’s nickname for her is wrong. She’s not sure why, just that it  _is_. It’s as if they don’t belong together – just like the thought of seeing him on the couch in her apartment – and yet they are, sitting at the same table.   
  
“Good luck getting her to admit to mumbling, man,” Gale says.   
  
_Damn you, Gale_ , she thinks. This is going to be hard to get out of explaining if Peeta already knows too much.   
  
“Are you going to be Katniss’ plus one tomorrow?” Prim asks innocently.   
  
“Well, that’s up to your sister,” Peeta says. “I don’t want to be a wedding crasher.”   
  
“Katniss!” Prim seems scandalized at the thought of him  _not_ being invited. “You brought him to the  _rehearsal dinner_ and you haven’t even promised he could come to the wedding? That’s not right!”   
  
Katniss forces a smile. It’s a struggle to not roll her eyes. “We’re thinking about it. I wasn’t sure what you would think about me inviting a stranger.”   
  
“He’s held his own so far,” she says. “If you don’t invite him, I’ll slip him an invitation under the table.”  
  
Peeta laughs. “Thank you, Prim. Just in case I don’t see you tomorrow, though, I’m sure that you’ll be a beautiful bride.”   
  
  
  
  
Later that night, when things are cleaned up, Prim hugs Katniss tightly and hisses more than whispers  _invite him_ into her ear.   
  
  
  
He walks her to her door, like a gentleman, and she thanks him, reaching up to fumble with the clasp of the necklace. He looks almost like he’s going to protest, but then thinks better of it, holding his hand out for her to drop the necklace into.   
  
“I hope I didn’t come on too strongly,” he says, sounding sincere. “I want this to work. Really badly. And, um, I’m usually better than I was that first morning. But . . . well, I was caught way off guard, and that’s no excuse, but still.”   
  
She nods. “No. Not too strongly.”   
  
“Good,” he says. “I really want to see you again, Katniss. Get to know you better.”   
  
She bites her bottom lip.   
  
“And I know you didn’t seem completely comfortable with the thought of me crashing your baby sister’s wedding, but maybe we could get together some other time?” he asks.

  
Maybe it’s not completely because of Prim’s insistence that she invites him, but she can’t help herself.   
  
“I have to be at the venue way early tomorrow,” she says. “So, if you want to meet me there when the ceremony starts –”  
  
“No. I’ll bring you,” he says. “If that’s okay, I mean. I liked your family.”   
  
“Okay. I mean, you might be the first to like them, but if you want to bring me, that would be okay.”   
  
He grins. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Well, I’m not sure if my sister will ever forgive me if I don’t bring you to the wedding. But I won’t be very good company. I’ll be up on the stage.”   
  
“That suits me just fine,” he says. “I’ll hold your bag.”   
  
She nods, and then thinks of something else. “This doesn’t count as me . . .  _agreeing_ to . . . whatever this would be. Does it?”   
  
“No,” he says.   
  
“I can still back out?”   
  
He nods. “You can still back out. There’s not a point of no return, Katniss. I don’t know what I’m doing, either.”   
  
“Okay. Well then, if you’d like to be my date to the wedding . . . I guess I could allow it.”   
  
  
  
  


  
He’s back at her apartment in more than enough time for the wedding. She’s just barely managed to get into the bridesmaid dress – it’s above the knee and, of all colors,  _orange_. Rue’s is long, but Prim claims Katniss can wear the dress again, so she got the better end of the deal.  _Right._  
  
“Hey there,” he says. “That’s a pretty dress.”   
  
“Prim’s choice,” she says, because he might be sarcastic and she doesn’t want him to think that she  _likes_ this atrocity. “It’s not like I had the right to complain.”   
  
“It looks good on you,” he insists. “But I wish you’d have told me that it was going to be orange. We could have coordinated.”   
  
She sort of smiles. “Not unless you wanted to look like one of the groomsmen.”   
  
He looks almost  _too_  nice, she thinks. He might be confused for the groom, with that fancy suit. “I didn’t know the dress code,” he says, clearly noticing the way that she’s staring. “I thought . . . well, Mom always taught us that it was better to be overdressed than underdressed.”   
  
She nods. So he just has a fancy suit sitting around. “Well. You’re not going to make it any easier on me to get rid of you if my whole family thinks you’re so . . .  _sophisticated_.”   
  
He leans in much closer than is entirely necessary, and she stiffens until she realizes that it’s so that he can reach behind her and secure the pearl necklace. “Sorry, Katniss, but that’s not exactly going to discourage me.”   
  
She lets out a little tiny sigh when he pulls away. Hadn’t she resolved to hate him that first morning? What’s  _happening_ to her?  
  
  
He’s pleasant all day long, holding her bag, her flowers, even her  _shoes_ at one point, when she has to switch her pantyhose for a pair without a snag in them. He cracks jokes with Gale and Rory and Vick, and is overwhelmingly gentle with Posy, who does nothing at all to conceal the fact that she thinks he’s cute.   
  
She must. Because she’s not generally shy, and she’s giggling at everything Peeta has to say. Katniss can’t help but to feel sympathetic. He’s turning Katniss into a mess, too.   
  
  
  


“You really do look lovely,” he says.   
  
“Thank you,” she says. “It’s all on Prim. She dictated everything down to my lip gloss.”   
  
He laughs. “I’m amazed she’s so calm about it. I swear, I got chewed out for wearing the wrong color tie to Rye’s wedding.   
  
He must notice the vacant expression she gives him.  _Who is Rye?_ He laughs.   
  
“It’s weird. My sister is law is normally  _so_  lovely, but she just . . . doesn’t deal well under pressure.”   
  
“Were you a groomsman?” Vick asks, pulling at his bowtie. Katniss wonders if he’ll be able to keep his hands off of it during the ceremony. Probably not.   
  
“Best man,” Peeta says proudly. “That’s you, right?”   
  
Vick lets go of his bowtie and grins. “Yep! I beat Gale.”   
  
“It’s not a competition,” Gale says. “You just had more time.”   
  
“R _iight_ ,” Vick says. “I’m Rory’s favorite.”   
  
“I think that’s enough,” Gale says, shooting Katniss a look that’s almost sympathetic.   
  
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Vick threw all the parties leading up to the wedding. All of that on top of college applications. I’m impressed.”   
  
“It is impressive!” Peeta says. “Where are you applying?”   
  
They talk about college choices for a good long while. Peeta has a lot to say about how important college is. How they were some of the best days of his life.   
  
“College is very important,” Peeta says, and his eyes drift over to Katniss. He’s thinking about what Delly offered, then, too. It might have even been his idea, if he thinks it’s that important. She’s not sure.   
  
“Vick is gonna be great,” Katniss says. “He’s known what he wanted to do since he was little.”   
  
Vick looks flattered, really. Peeta leans forward a little bit, and they talk about college choices. Katniss wonders if he knows that it’s a community college he’ll be paying for when he talks about the fancy school that he went to.   
  
  
  
Just like during the rehearsal, Peeta watches her from the audience. It’s strange, how his eyes are trained on her, but it doesn’t  _hurt_. She’s supposed to be focusing on something other than locking her knees – the official  had warned them about the danger there. About how she could faint.   
  
Prim joked that she wouldn’t like that, the ceremony being derailed because of one of her bridesmaids fainting. She was talking to Rue, of course, but Katniss knew that it applied to her, too. Either way, it doesn’t hurt having Peeta for . . . what, exactly? Not quite an ally, but maybe a focal point.   
  
The ceremony goes off without incident. Though, really, Katniss feels a little smug when it takes Rue a moment too long to come up with the ring. She wouldn’t have misplaced it. Not for even a second. But, big sisters aren’t maids of honor, apparently.   
  
The vows themselves are beautiful. Handwritten and personalized – no thanks to Katniss, of course. When Prim had asked someone for help, it was Rue. Even though Katniss was the one to set the both of them up. In a completely inadvertent “Prim, this is my boyfriend’s brother,” sort of way.   
  
Whatever. It still makes Katniss cry a little bit. If maybe not for the reasons that everyone else in the audience is sniffling. Prim really does look beautiful in her dress. Even if Katniss wasn’t invited to the fitting until it was too late and she didn’t even have the day off of work. Ugh. She’s probably never going to be able to forgive her boss for refusing to let her take that day off.   
  
  


She can't very well tell Peeta that she won't dance with him. Not when he asks and  _EVERYONE_  turns to look at them, clearly wondering what her reaction will be. She doesn’t blame them for not knowing what she’ll do. She’s never been the type of girl to dance. Especially not in public.   
  
But he’s watching her so expectantly, and so are all the others. Prim might have been pissed at all the attention if she wasn't so rapturously in love with her husband. They’ve been dancing for ages, anyway, and barely stopped to look at anyone else. It’s . . . sweet. Even if it makes Katniss a little uncomfortable, the thought of liking someone  _that_ much. She does give Peeta her hand, and she thinks she hears Posy sigh. Like all of this is  _romantic_.   
  
“What are you thinking?” Peeta asks as he leads her out to the dance floor.   
  
“Is this really the time to talk about the arrangement?” she asks, her voice quiet.   
  
“I wasn’t. I was talking about you.”  _Oh_. Well. “You were watching your sister. Are you sad?”   
  
“No. I’m happy for her,” she says.   
  
“No one said you couldn’t be both.”   
  
The music changes, and he pulls her in a little bit closer so they can really start to dance. It’s hard, making sure that he doesn’t step on her feet. She has to back up  _and_ let him lead  _and_ try to at least pretend like she’s enjoying this.   
  
Ugh. Dancing is horrible.   
  
“I am. I’m happy for her and Rory,” she says. He turns her a little bit, continuing the little tiny steps. They could do this dance on a pie plate, she thinks. “But I can’t imagine being that sure of anything when I was her age.”   
  
He smiles. “So you agree? They’re getting married young?”   
  
“High school sweethearts,” she says. “Of course, I don’t think I’d want to marry someone that I met as a teenager. But still. They’re happy.”   
  
“They look happy,” he agrees. “Did you go right to school?”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Just wondering. Since you said that about not being sure of anything.”   
  
“That’s not what I said,” she protests weakly. “No. I didn’t go right to school. I didn’t want to take any loans out.”   
  
He nods. “I get that. So you went to work?”   
  
She nods.   
  
“Do you hate it?”   
  
“What?” she asks.   
  
“Working for Cray. Do you hate it?”   
  
“Why does it matter?”   
  
He sighs, just a little bit. “I’m trying to get a feel for you, Katniss.”   
  
His hand wanders down to the small of her back and she scoffs. “Literally?”   
  
He ducks his head, looking maybe a little sheepish. “You didn’t answer the question.”   
  
“Yes. I hate working for Cray. Happy?”   
  
He shrugs, just a little bit. “I wouldn’t say  _happy_.”   
  
It’s quiet for a while, save for the music that’s playing. There are a few other couples dancing, but not many. None of them seem to be having conversations, though.   
  
“You wouldn’t have to work for him, you know,” Peeta says after a long moment, his voice low. “Not if you moved in with me.”   
  
“Is this the place?” she asks, not for the first time.   
  
“I don’t know. Is it?” he returns. “I guess the real question is whether or not I’m the worst wedding date.”   
  
“You don’t have much competition,” she quips. “No one else would have offered to bring me.”   
  
“Is that a yes?”   
  
“That’s . . . I want to talk in private,” she says.   
  
He grins, looking for all the world like a kid on Christmas.   
  
  
She’s still not sure when he brings her back to the apartment. All of Bristol’s things – and, by the looks of it, some of Katniss’ things – are  _gone_ , though. It’s not an empty threat this time. And there’s no way she’s going to be able to make rent, let alone buy the supplies she needs for her classes.   
  
And the place is a mess, too. Katniss had managed to pick up after the rehearsal last night, but the apartment looks horrible. “I’ll have my own bed?” she asks.   
  
“Your own  _room_ ,” he assures her. “Why? You want it?”  
  
“I just . . . see no point in  _not_ doing this. If it’s like you said, and there isn’t a point of no return. I want to try this.”   
  
“Are you sure?” he asks, leaning against the doorway.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Okay,” he says. “Thank you.”   
  
She scoffs. He really believes that she’ll be helpful, then. That this isn’t all for her benefit. Does it make it easier, if that’s true?   
  
He laughs. “Seriously. Katniss. This is really a big deal. Thank you, thank you so much.”   
  
She says that he’s welcome, but she feels a strange nagging in the pit of her stomach like maybe she already regrets agreeing to this.

  
“So, what?” she asks. “Do I get a ring and a name change?”   
  
“Not just yet,” he says, giving her a winning smile. “We have a few things to look over -- just you, me, and Delly Cartwright.”   
  
She nods. “Do you . . . do you want to come in?”   
  
He shakes his head. “Better not. I’ll see you later, though, okay?”   
  
She’s left more than a little confused when the door closes behind him. 


	4. Chapter Three

She isn’t told to bring her things right over to Peeta’s place. Or, invited to. That’s probably a better way to say it. They invited her over for a meeting, and it seems just a little bit unfair – not to mention _stressful_ , because she has to get out/get her stuff out as soon as possible. But she doesn’t protest or tell them that.

 

It seems like an awfully good way for them to figure out that she’s desperate and offer her less.

 

Is she desperate? She’s not sure. She _is_ selling her hand in marriage. But then . . . well. Peeta offered. Delly offered, really. But it was on Peeta’s behalf. She thinks, or hopes, at least, that Peeta was the one to come up with the idea. She’s fairly certain that he was the one to come up with the idea of marrying her in the Capitol. Though, that wasn’t a business move, really.

 

At least, she hopes it wasn’t a business move. He had seemed fairly sincere, but then, why would he be? Maybe this is a practical joke. Maybe they’re going to laugh at her and call her stupid because why would this even be something that they would offer? They’re going to pay for her _schooling_? Her parents could never swing that. If Peeta has this sort of money, shouldn’t he put it away for his own family, someday? And not blow it on some girl that he married during a very drunk night?

 

**KATNISS EVERDEEN: 11:25 AM:** _so what’s this meeting about, exactly?_

 

She feels a little pathetic. But then, she deserves to know if she’d be better suited spending her time asking her parents about what kind of a curfew she’ll have if she ends up moving back into their house until she gets back on her feet. When it came up to Prim that Bristol moved out, she had mentioned that Mom and Dad would be happy to have her back.

 

This seems better than that option, somehow.

 

**PEETA MELLARK: 11:25 AM:** _Strictly business._

 

So, it’ll be super awkward, then. That’s nice. Does he think it’s _comforting_? How is this man a politician if he’s so naïve about what’s going to set her at ease? Isn’t his job lying to make people feel better? _Maybe that’s what he was doing when he convinced you_ , an unhelpful voice in her head says. She shakes her head, as if to dislodge the thought.

 

She’s never spent so much time in her life waffling over what to wear as she has since Peeta Mellark showed up. But it’s hard to find something business appropriate since all she has to wear specifically for work is a nametag and a red pin that says _ask me about our records!_ Cray thinks it’s very important to cater to the hipster demographic, so she’s allowed to wear her father’s old flannels all she wants.

 

She ends up in jeans and one of those today. Whatever. He didn’t say to dress up, and she’s been spending way too much time in dresses and heels lately.

 

Delly is the one to answer the door when she shows up at his apartment. It surprises Katniss, even though it probably shouldn’t.

 

“Katniss! How are you doing?” Delly asks.  


“I’m fine,” Katniss says with a little smile. “You?”

 

“Great. Busy, actually! Come in!” she says, stepping back and waving Katniss inside after her. “Peeta is just in the other room, looking over the contract.”

 

Contract _. What_? “Am I early?” she asks. She’s not sure why, exactly, the thought makes her nervous. But a contract makes this real. And uncomfortable. And _legal_. Is this sort of thing actually legal? Will the contract bind her at all?

 

“You’re not early at all! Come on in,” she says, already striding off into the other room. Katniss has no choice but to follow. “I’ll catch you up, and we can all talk things over together.”

 

Delly sits at the head of the table, and Katniss is across from Peeta, directly beside her. It really is a meeting, then. More practical – and _uncomfortable_ – than the one she and Delly had at the restaurant. Peeta’s apartment is nice. Huge. She can’t imagine needing such a big kitchen table. Especially since they all are sitting clustered at one end of it.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Peeta says, looking down at the legal pad in front of him. She and Delly both have them, too. Delly’s is covered in writing, and Peeta’s has a couple of words scrawled onto it. Questions, she thinks. It’s hard to read upside down. She doesn’t really like it that they’ve gotten started without her. It makes her feel left out. As if she’s missed some important negotiations. “How are you?”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” she says. Why won’t he look at her? He had been so touchy-feely before.

 

“Okay! Now that everyone is here, we can really get started,” Delly says, tapping the top of a several page document that Katniss just knows is the contract. She doesn’t know that she’s ever seen a contract in real life before. “Katniss, are you familiar with the idea of a nondisclosure agreement?”

 

“I . . . not really. Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Peeta says. “Basically, it just means that you’re not allowed to tell people about what’s going on.”

 

“Or anything that he might let slip,” Delly adds. “If you two develop a friendship, and he mentions something about . . . say, a potential political scandal, you will be expected to hold that in confidence, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” Katniss repeats, even though this all seems so foreign to her.

 

“It’s pretty basic,” Peeta says. “Nothing unreasonable.”

 

“And it goes both ways!” Delly says. “So if, say, _you_ want this whole fake-marriage thing getting out about as much as we do – which is not at all under any circumstances – then you can rest assured knowing that legally, he’s really not allowed to talk about it either.”

 

She nods.

 

“Of course, since your relationship is so . . . _unique_ , there are extra things added here that we’re going to need to go over before it really starts.”

 

“Like a prenup?” Katniss asks.  

 

“Exactly. Since you’re his wife in the eyes of the law, it would be remarkably easy for you to get out of here with half of his stuff. But you don’t want that, do you?”

 

It’s tempting. “No.”

 

“I told you she wouldn’t be a problem, Peeta,” Delly says smugly. “Now, of course, we’re willing to pay you more than fairly for your . . . cooperation, but this is just to make sure that’s what you end up with. No more, no less.”

 

“Okay,” she says, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“Now, Peeta and I were discussing the offer I made at dinner.”

 

Her blood runs cold. She won’t do this if they won’t pay for her schooling.

 

“He wants to ensure that you have everything you need. He suggested that you get a small stipend, as well as being covered for your classes. To cover, say, gas money, or extra books. This, of course, will be considered a part of your payment.”

 

She nods dumbly. That can’t be right. What will he expect in return? Surely not just her remaining his wife in the eyes of the law.

 

“So, this page . . .” she flips through the – impressively long – contract until she finds what she’s looking for. “Explains that, and it says that, should you decide not to continue your education, Peeta will not owe you the money for the remainder of your semester, and you will not be expected to pay the money back. That’s true if you graduate, as well. Think of it as a private scholarship.”

 

 _God._ How rich is this guy? She nods again. That seems to be all she can do today. Delly goes through, explaining all kinds of thing. Katniss will live here. She will have to, to keep appearances up. She will have her own room and king sized bed. Delly acts like maybe this is a burden, her staying here, and not one of the things that pushed her to take them up on this offer.

 

“And then, of course, we have to discuss the relationship aspect of this deal.”

 

“The fun stuff,” Peeta says drily. She wonders why he’s so far away today.

 

“Now, Peeta has made it abundantly clear to me that he is not interested in or comfortable with the physical aspects that could come with a relationship of this sort –”

 

“That means hands off. Sorry, Katniss.”

 

Delly fixes Peeta with a glare that looks surprisingly sharp for the sweet girl. “Now, as I was saying, he won’t be expecting those things from you. It is spelled out in this contract that you do not owe him any . . . _favors_. . . for this, and he doesn’t owe anything to you. Does that make sense?”

 

Oh no. Why is she blushing? She nods.

 

“Of course, situations will arise where your love story will have to be believable. By signing, you agree that you are obligated to be affectionate with him in public. Chase kisses. Sweet nothings. Hand holding.”

 

“Nothing happens behind closed doors,” Peeta says.

 

“And what if it does?” Katniss asks, and Peeta actually laughs. He coughs in a weak attempt to cover it up, but it doesn’t work. “Does that break the contract?”

 

“It won’t happen, sweetheart,” he says, and there’s no affection in his voice, even though she might expect it, given the nickname. He sounds _bored_. “Try not to worry about it.”

 

She stares at him, wide eyed. Why does this feel like a _rejection_? She shouldn’t even be thinking about this, and yet, here she is.

 

“Okay! Moving on!” Delly says, sounding just as eager as Katniss feels to get this over with. “Now, in keeping with the terms of the nondisclosure agreement, it will, of course, not be public knowledge, how . . . chaste . . . your relationship will be. You will be expected to change your last name, preferably fully to _Mellark_ , or at least a hyphenation. That will extend to your Facebook account. Any sort of social media, really, will need to reflect your relationship with Peeta.”

 

“And please, please, make your Facebook private,” Peeta says. “It was unreasonably easy to get on your profile last night.”

 

“Why were you on my Facebook?”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, Katniss. Everyone will be on your Facebook soon enough.”

 

“Don’t _oh, Katniss_ me,” she protests. “It’s a valid question.”

 

“We should get back on track!” Delly suggests brightly. “In regards to the relationship, there is one more thing. You will be expected to honor it as you would a real marriage. Peeta can’t afford the bad press from having it leak that you’re seeing another man behind his back.”  

 

Katniss fails when she tries not to scoff.

 

“What Delly is too nice to say is that it’s not going to look good if my wife gets pregnant with another man’s baby,” Peeta says.

 

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

 

Did he not notice the way her family was fawning all over him? Did she fail to mention that she broke up with Gale _years_ ago and other than some losers over the last couple of years, she really hasn’t dated? Whatever. He doesn’t really need to know, right?

 

“Does that go both ways, as well?” Katniss asks. “I get that you’re a politician, but I don’t want to look like an idiot if you end up in the middle of some sort of a scandal.”

 

“Yes. Of course it does,” Delly says. Katniss feels like she’s stupid or something, based on the way that they’re talking, but her family is far too blue collar to speak legalese. “I understand your concern. Peeta will be nothing but respectful to the sanctity of your fake marriage. Okay!” Delly says. “Now, back to the contract . . .”

 

It takes ages to get everything sorted out. Delly suggests that they move her things over the weekend while Peeta comes up with the cover story. He’s going to have a ring waiting for her too, apparently. He fastens the pearl necklace around her neck before she leaves, saying that he can trust her to keep it safe. She knows, though, that it’s because of the contract that she’s just signed. She’s entitled to any gifts he may give her during the duration of that marriage. This must count as one.

 

 _It’s a loaner_ , she reminds herself. Isn’t she a loaner, too, technically? Not quite his wife. Not for long. That’s another thing that they discussed. There are three months until the upcoming election. She’ll be expected to keep up the charade not only through that, but also a little bit afterwards. It would be a scandal, they think, if he got a divorce as soon as he was elected. And a scandal is exactly what they’re trying to avoid.

  
She feels way out of her depth.


End file.
